


731

by 30xf



Series: 201 Days Of X Files [58]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30xf/pseuds/30xf





	731

Scully starts awake, stopping the gasp in her throat before it has a chance to come to life. She puts her hands over her face, sighing deeply and rubbing her eyes before running both hands up through her hair. She looks over Mulder, sound asleep in his hospital bed, and tries to forget the dream that woke her. A dream of the bright, white place; the tests; the doctor's interested but unconcerned faces; the dying women. 

His heart monitor beeps a steady rhythm in the darkened and quiet room. It's almost enough to lull her right back to sleep, if it weren't for the fear of more dreams. She gets up and paces, from Mulder's bedside, to the window, no further than the door of his room. After a few rounds, she stops in the doorway, her hands in her pockets and leaning against the frame. There is little activity on this particular floor of this Iowa hospital at this time of night, thus not much of a distraction from her thoughts. Thoughts of the leprosy patients. Thoughts of the hole filled with their bodies. Thoughts of rail cars and alien autopsies. Thoughts of Betsy Hagopian. She is brought back to the present by urgent beeping from the nurse's station. She watches as two nurses rush into a room down the hall, silence the beeping, and return a few minutes later. They take up their respective spots behind their desk, and the night resumes it's normal quiet.

Scully heads back to Mulder's bed and stands beside it. She is tired of sitting. Just plain tired, in fact. But she doesn't want to sleep. Her worry has tapered off; Mulder's injuries were severe, but not life threatening. From the looks of him, he took quite a beating. There are ligature marks on his neck, but no damage to his throat. His nose is badly bruised, but not broken. He has a minor fracture just above his eye, most likely from the shoe imprints found on his face. And he has two cracked ribs, probably from the same shoe, with heavy bruising over top. He's very lucky, in other words. He was brought to the hospital after an anonymous call came in. He was questioned by the police before she could even get there, but it did no good. He didn't remember anything at that point. He knew the basics--enough to tell them his name and have them call her--but she's still waiting for him to wake up to explain exactly what went on. She could assume the bomb went off, but there would have been something on the news about it. And if it hadn't gone off, she would have thought an abandoned rail car anywhere near this small Iowa town would also be something to talk about. But there's nothing. The news station on the TV is all weather reports and the local fair. Nothing about a badly beaten man being found in the middle of nowhere. She suspects Mulder's source--the one who warned her not to let him get on the train--has something to do with it. But of course, she has no way to prove it. At this point, she's left with nothing. Her brain reminds her a second later that's not true--she has Mulder back in one piece. And that counts for a lot.

Mulder stirs under Scully's watchful gaze, but doesn't wake. A nurse comes in to do a quick check on his vitals, and is gone in no time, offering a tight-lipped smile to Scully as she passes. Sitting back in her chair, Scully carefully peeks under the bandage on Mulder's forehead. She then gently presses the bruises on his face, avoiding his nose for fear it would be too sensitive. There is no exact reason for this exam. From what she's seen, the doctors and nurses are taking good care of him. But she wants to see for herself. And she likes to feel useful. Pulling the covers down to his waist, she lifts his hospital gown to inspect his side. Her fingers pass over the tender skin there, her touch feather-light. Satisfied with her findings, she tucks his gown back down and replaces the covers. 

She leans back in her chair just in time to hear Mulder croak out, "See anything you like?" His voice is week and scratchy, but she understands him all the same.

A smile comes to her face as she watches him force his eyes open to look at her. "Not exactly. Just some bruises and some foot prints."

"Footprints?" he seems confused, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"If the imprints were a little harder, I'd be able to tell what size they were. But I'd guess size ten or eleven." She sits forward in her chair, wondering if he'll be able to tell her anything, or if she'll just be relaying what little she knows to him.

"Footprints," he says again. This time a statement instead of a question.

"You remember anything?" Scully asks, reaching up to pick a small clump of hair from the grip of the bandage over his eye.

"I told the police to call you," he starts. 

She nods, a sigh escaping her. She already knew the story from when he got to the hospital. "Anything before that?"

Mulder thinks hard, touching his head where the bandage is and wincing. "My head hurts," he tells her, the pain distracting him from her questioning. 

"You've got a small fracture there," she relates, pressing the button by his hand that allows the pain killers to merge into his IV. "Just under that bandage. Bruising on your cheek and nose. A couple cracked ribs and a good amount of bruising there too."

Mulder nods, taking hold of the button Scully pressed. "Did you just drug me up with this?"

She lets out a low chuckle. "It will only dispense at the recommended dosage. But the idea is that you press it when you need it. Don't get used to it--they'll probably take it away tomorrow. You might even be out of here in time for dinner."

"Good to know," he tells her, setting the button beside him and patting it gently. His eyes meet hers again and he remembers he was answering her questions. "I was talking to you on the phone--you were telling me the code to the door."

Scully nods, "Right; and just as I told you the last number you were gone. Do you remember what happened?"

"I got hit from behind," he frowns. "Knocked me out. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital here. What'd I miss?"

"Who knocked you out?" Scully asks, her brow furrowed.

"A man was in the train car with me. I think he was sent to kill whatever it was that was locked in there. He killed Dr. Zama. I assume he was supposed to kill me too. You don't suppose he knocked me out and then carried me out of there, do you?"

Scully shrugged, though she was doubtful. "You're the only one with any information on what happened. Nothing on the news and nothing has been reported to local police regarding an explosion or an abandoned train car."

"How'd I get here?" he finally thinks to ask.

Again she shrugs. "You're in a hospital in Iowa. You were left not far from here and an anonymous call to 911 was how you were found."

Mulder searches her face, trying to understand. "What the hell happened out there, Scully?"

"I don't know," she says quietly. "My only thought is that your source--your deep background--somehow found you and brought you here. He showed up at my apartment; he was the one who told me to warn you not to get on the train in the first place."

"Guess I should have listened," Mulder smirks, glancing down at his abdomen.

Scully raises an eyebrow, "Why start now?"

"Maybe I'll turn over a new leaf," he suggests, smiling at her.

But Scully remains serious. "We're left with nothing, Mulder. After all that." Even as she says this, she remembers the tiny computer chip implant still in her coat pocket.

Mulder nods, understanding her disappointment. After a moment, he looks at her with hope. "You have to get ahold of the railway company. The conductor has a piece of evidence."

"What?" Scully frowns, sitting up. 

"Dr. Zama was on the train, and the man that knocked me out killed him. But I took Zama's briefcase and there was some kind of journal in it. I gave it to the conductor for safe keeping, but it may have answers we need in there."

With renewed hope, Scully nods and checks her watch. "No point in calling now, I guess. The train wouldn't have made it to Vancouver yet."

"Did you get a motel room? You should get some sleep," Mulder suggests.

"It's late--not sure if I want to go hunting down a room at this time of night. I came here straight from the airport."

"You're tired, Scully."

"I've been napping in this chair," she tells him. She considers telling him about her dreams, but decides she doesn't want to worry him with all that right now.

"I'd share this bed with you, but I'm afraid you'd poke at my ribs some more," he jokes, smiling.

"I'm a doctor, it's my job," she forces a smile, giving his arm a light squeeze. "You're safe, anyways. No one's in the other bed, so I'll just sleep there. I imagine you'll be discharged tomorrow."

"Good. I can help you find that briefcase then," he tells her, his eyelids getting heavy. "Hey, did you find out any more about that computer chip? I haven't had a chance to ask you."

He sounds genuinely interested, but his eyes close. And Scully just doesn't have the energy for that conversation at the moment. "We'll talk about that on the plane ride home," she says, sitting back in her chair. "You just get some sleep for now."

Mulder tries to nod, but the painkillers have taken effect. He drops his chin to his chest and his head stays there. "You too," he manages to slur before he's out.

Scully nods to herself, but doesn't sleep.


End file.
